


Our bodies won't be the only things battling for dominance

by hinatella



Series: yuuri!!! on fire (the superhero au) [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bad Flirting, Dirty Jokes, Humor, M/M, Rivalry, Swearing, Villains, being too gay to function
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinatella/pseuds/hinatella
Summary: Victor is very confused, and, unsurprisingly, very gay.





	Our bodies won't be the only things battling for dominance

**Author's Note:**

> this is a part of a series! so if you're reading this for the first time, you might wanna go back and the other parts first, because this doesn't exactly stand alone.

It is surprisingly simple assimilating to this new and sudden lifestyle change. Victor muses about how it reminds him of old times; there's Yakov sitting at the end of the table, aged fingers gliding along the screen of a tablet while he eats breakfast, and Yuri P., who is directly across from him, stabbing at a bowl of porridge with a spoon while he glares knives and daggers and pointed needles at Victor. Just like old times.

  
Yuri's cat, KitKat, scurries along the dinning room floor and something nags at the edge of Victor's mind as he watches her. That's been happening a lot, ever since he'd lost part of his memories; something fuzzy and clouded at the edges that can't quite break through the thick fog. It's like having a certain _phrase_ on the tip of his tongue, but the feeling is ever-present and constantly at the back of his conscious. And it's quite irritating.

  
"You're making that dumb face again."

   
Victor turns his eyes on Yuri, softens the hard lines he feels on his face. "Ah, am I? Sorry, I was....thinking."

  
"Don't hurt yourself," Yuri mutters; there isn't serious malice behind those words. Victor figures Yuri is trying to adjust to this just as much as Yakov and he is, and he has to be taking this harder than anyone. But he's not an open and easily read book. Or perhaps he is, and Victor isn't able to read him that well anymore. Gone are the days of cherubic green eyes and an overt expression and that adorable look of pure innocence looking up at him like he's the world and—

  
" _Oi_ ," Yuri kicks Victor's shin under the table, and Victor _jolts_. "You were thinking something weird about me, weren't you?"

  
Victor can't quite read Yuri anymore, but Yuri can apparently read Victor like they hadn't been separated for over seven years.

  
Instead of answering, Victor says, "Ouch." A late reaction.

  
"Yura. Do not kick Victor at the dinner table," Yakov scolds without looking up from his tablet.

  
"Tell him to stop looking at me like that."

  
"Like what?" Victor asks.

  
"Like a damn parent looking at baby photos. It's gross." Yuri makes a face to emphasis just gross it is.

  
Victor tries not to smile, because he knows Yuri will take it the wrong way, so he artfully conceals his grin behind a hand. Yuri takes _that_ the wrong way too.

  
He kicks him again, twice as hard.

  
"Ow, Yura!"

  
Yakov looks up this time and gives Yuri a stare that's sharper than all of his knives combined. " _Yuri Plisetsky_ , stop that."

  
Yuri shrivels like a cat with hydrophobia in the rain—wide-eyed and pouty lipped like a 5 year old—and Victor snickers behind that same hand.

  
"You're just as adorable as I remember, Yura," Victor teases in a sing-song voice. He jerks his legs back when he thinks Yuri will kick again and narrowly misses it. He's sure his shin will end up with a shoe shaped bruise later. "Just like old times, hm?"

  
"I'm not _adorable_ , I'm practically an adult, so shut the fuck up," Yuri not-so-amicably responds. He huffs as he begins eating again, and mumbles through a spoonful of porridge, "Why are you even back here? Isn't there some havoc you need to cause? Kindly fuck off."

  
Victor glances to the left when he hears Yakov sighing painfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yura, language. Victor, please stop provoking him. It's too early for this nonsense."

  
"I didn't mean to, it's the truth! He's hardly changed—well, besides the surly attitude. You're just like KitKat, a feisty kitten."

  
"KitKat doesn't like you because you're _evil_ , dickbag."

  
Another sigh from Yakov.

  
"KitKat attacked me because you smeared Tuna Bitez® all over my face while I was asleep."

  
Yuri doesn't even deny it. He shrugs and pushes his bowl away once it's been cleared. "Small details, whatever. KitKat can tell you're an asshole cause pets smell evil on anyone."

  
Victor sulks, wounded, and places a hand against his chest. "That's not true! Not...entirely." He knows he's not an irredeemable, murderous, villain. At least, not anymore. There's a better argument somewhere in his tampered mind, but that itchy ache is back, and it gets worse as he squints his eyes at nothing to try and recall _something_.

  
"—leave."

  
Eyes refocusing, he takes in Yuri's vexed expression. Victor has no idea what he just said, but he can gauge what he missed.

  
"I can't leave when I'm here for a reason," Victor replies solemnly.

  
The air in the room is suddenly stiff and armed, like it's filled with laser alarms. One slight move, and Victor could get burned. Yuri and Yakov are regarding him with paired judgment, and Victor can't help but muse at how similar they look. They're not related by blood, but he would've assumed that had he not already known.

  
Victor chances it, leans forward, rests his chin casually on his palm, and wears an easy smile. "I need to win someone's heart."

  
He hears the audible _pop_ of disappointment disperse the tension.

  
"Ugh," Yuri distastefully gags. "I don't care what you do, you're the world's worst brother and I'll _never_ forgive you—"

  
Victor injects, "It's great you think I want to win you over again, and believe me, I'd love to. But you're not who I'm talking about."

  
Yuri has the gall to look affronted, like he hadn't been telling Victor off about his _obvious_ lack of care ten literal seconds ago. "Then who?!" he asks indignantly.

  
As if on cue, his phone rings besides his plate, the default ringtone vibrating incessantly against the hardwood. Yakov made him replace his old phone six days ago, _"For security purposes. Better safe now than sorry later."_

  
The screen reads an unknown string of numbers, because the only numbers he has right now are Yakov's (plugged in as Old Boss Man) and Yuri's (plugged in as Angry Pipsqueak). He picks up, and says hello, and hears the last voice he ever thought he'd hear on the other end.

  
"Victor? Is this the right number?"

  
" _Yuuri?_ "

  
"Oh," a sigh of relief, "finally! I kept dialing the wrong number and I was starting to think I'd never reach you—"

  
Victor's brain short-circuits, fries, and effectively shuts down when his heart overheats from the way it pounds against his chest. Yuuri's calling him. He's calling him, he has his number? His voice sounds low and soft with sleep still, and he's _calling_ him, what—

  
"—so I need you to prepare to spar in the training room today, okay? Victor?"

 _  
Yes! Of course!_ , is what Victor wants to shout into the receiver with all the overeagerness he possesses, but he'd missed most of what Yuuri said and has half a mind to ask him to repeat again, just so he can listen to the way sleepy syllables sound on the voice of an angel. But his mouth moves of their own accord, without his consent, because his filter flies head first out the window when ever Yuuri is involved, apparently.

  
"I hope our bodies won't be the only things battling for dominance."

  
"....Goodbye, Victor."

  
The line goes dead, and so does Victor's hope for the day.

  
Yuri scoffs. “You are disgusting.”

  
Victor doesn’t have a proper comeback to that. To Yakov, he says, “You gave him my number?”

   
“I figured he would need it to contact you.“ Yakov’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, straightening out the lapels of his suit jacket. “The car to take you to the organization will arrive in twenty minutes. Yura, it’s time to take you to Madame Lilia. Come along now.”

   
Yuri takes his plate from the table, but he’s stopped from going into the kitchen when KitKat brushes her lithe, furry body against his leg. And, ah, there’s that headache again. What is that?

   
“Are you alright, Victor?” Yakov asks in concern.

   
Is he making that face Yuri accuses him of making again? He doesn’t really realize he’s doing it.

   
“Ah...yes, I’m just. Trying to remember something.”

   
“Is it your brain’s whereabouts?” Yuri says.

   
Victor snaps out of that weird, subdued state and pouts. “Don’t be so callous, Yura.”

   
Yuri hisses callously.

 

✂

 

Victor isn’t so sure what Yuuri meant by “prepare to spar”. They’ll be using the training room, clearly. They’ll be fighting without the pretense of actually _fighting_. Victor hopes that showing up to work in a muscle tank and sweatpants, and carrying a bottle of ice cold spring water suffices Yuuri’s requirements.

   
And it seems to because Yuuri is presently in the gym section of the training room, hopping on light feet and stretching his limbs in an oh-so enticing way. Victor may be prepared, be he isn’t _prepared._ He’d snuck into the training room via the second floor automatic doors for the sole purpose of calming his heart rate and quieting his mind without the distraction of Yuuri to send him into overdrive again. It’s ridiculous, really, because the other probably— _definitely_ —has no idea what effect he has, and frankly, Victor is _dying_.

  
The soft _sssh_ of the automatic doors sliding open sounds when Victor shifts near them. He takes a peek in between the verticals of railing and peers down at Yuuri, who’s now doing squats. A.k.a the universal _stare-at-my-ass-because-I-know-you’re-watching_ exercise.

  
“What in the _world_ are you doing?”

  
Victor nearly yells with surprise, but he catches himself in time, and snaps his head towards an amused Christophe. The blond man is lying on the floor right beside Victor, resting his chin in a palm, and drumming the fingers of his free hand against the ground.

  
He can feel the sweat building on his head, and he hasn’t even moved yet. Chris sits, waiting for a response,  _like he doesn’t already know_ , and Victor adorns the most conspicuous, abashed face in existence.

  
“You aren’t watching Yuuri warm up, are you?” Chris helpfully supplies for him.

  
Victor coughs into his hand and sits up, places that easy smile on his face to show exactly how casual he isn’t. “I was...scouting the competition.”  
 

“Sure,” Chris says, clearly not believing him. But he plays along anyway. “He’s starting your training today, is he?”

  
“Yes, he—he _called_ me. He has my number apparently?” Victor says.

  
Chris doesn’t point out the fact that that’s hardly an answer so much as a babble akin to a fresh, young schoolboy with his head in the clouds.

  
“You’ve got it bad, Nikiforov.”

  
Victor drops the act (as if he’d kept it up well in the first place, _ha_ ) and mopes. “He wants absolutely nothing to do with me, which is fair, because of all the heroes here I’ve definitely clashed with him the most. How on earth do I get _the_ Yuuri Katsuki to tolerate me?”

  
“Maybe you can start by not calling him Cinderella anymore.”

  
With abject confusion, Victor stares at him. Chris could have sprouted a phallic object in place of his nose, and Victor would manage to look less confused. “He hates it? He never said anything.”

  
Chris raises an eyebrow incredulously.

  
“I don’t mean anything wrong by it! He’s like a modern day Cinderella, wouldn’t you agree? Beautiful, captivating, an amazingly hard worker with the ability to put the story’s antagonists to shame…”

  
Chris whispers, _“Oh, my god.”_

  
Victor pauses his passionate (infatuation-filled) monologue. “What?”

  
“You actually like him.”

  
Victor blinks.

  
“I might even venture to say you _love_ him.”

  
“Have…have I not been making myself clear.”

  
Chris whistles. “Everyone assumed you were purposely trying to get under his skin. But no, you’re actually just that bad.”

  
Victor squawks. “What do you mean by _bad_ —”

  
A hand curls around his shoulder, and Victor stares at it, then up at the twinkling eyes of Chris. He may not have known the r-rated hero long, but he doesn’t need experience to realize he’s going to be dragged into mischief.

  
“Tell you what, Monsieur Nikiforov. I’ll help you out.”

  
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Victor asks, skeptical.

  
“I’ll give you tips on ways to win Yuuri’s heart that do _not_ come from online dating forums.”

   
He averts his eyes. How many mind readers were in this damned organization?

   
Chris grins, self-satisfied. “Tip number one—”

   
SIB chooses that exact moment to materialize in front of Chris, and with the loudest voice in this large, echoey room, announces a potential disaster unfolding on the other side of town. Chris ducks out of sight, taking the floating screen with him, and Yuuri voice calls from down below.

   
“Victor? You’re there?”

   
Victor spares a glare at Chris, then leans against the railings to speak to Yuuri. “I just arrived. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long?”

   
“Right...Come down here please? We need to start."

  
He complies, locating a hole in the steel platform with a metal pole that leads to the ground. Victor slides down, adds a bit of finesse to it, and when he sticks the landing, he poses with a hand in the air in a dramatic flair as though announcing his presence to the room.

  
The only audience member manages to look extremely unimpressed. That is, until he properly looks Victor up and down. And he stalls the need to break the silence with a gulp, Victor can see, because his Adam's apple stutters against the plane of his throat.

  
"Is that...what you normally wear when you work out?" he asks.

  
Victor peers down at himself to make certain that he did not, in fact, waltz into the training room wearing nothing. Then he answers, "Yes? Does this not work?" Maybe he should've paid attention to that call earlier after all. The first personal call he'd received from _Yuuri_ , and the entire thing went right over his head. Unbelievable.

  
Silently, he ponders whether he should mention this, the fact that he'd missed most of what Yuuri told him, because Victor still isn't quite clear about why they’re here right now.

  
"No, no. That, um. That's good," Yuuri says. He stands from his seated position on the floor mats and wipes his hands against his tights. Victor's eyes travel up to the fitted, blue crop top tank he's sporting.

  
"Is that what _you_ normally wear when you work out?"

  
Yuuri looks self-conscious all of a sudden, wrapping his arms around his exposed middle, which Victor finds odd. Honestly, the way his Cinderos costume bared his skin could put this workout outfit to shame by _miles_.

  
Still, Yuuri mumbles in this timid voice that Victor has never associated with Cinderos, because Cinderos is confidence personified, the epitome of self-assuredness behind a classic black mask. "I like to breathe. You know, don't want to overheat."

  
"Ah, yes. The whole fire thing," Victor says.

  
And it falls quiet.

  
It's weird, really. They must've known each other for two years now—albeit under questionable circumstances—and there's never been a dull moment. Granted, those dull moments were usually replaced with the cacophonous chaos of explosion or alarms or screaming. Victor always has something witty to say, when danger stares him right in the face and one elemental-powered hero threatens to stop him.

  
But now, they're alone.

  
Now, Victor is completely out of his element.

  
He's never felt so lost in his life, probably. (The whole memories being erased thing is a pretty close second though.)

  
Yuuri grabs his attention by clearing his throat. "Go ahead and do some warm up stretches on the mat. I'm gonna go...get some water," he says, and brisk-walks out of the room. The hiss of the automatic doors resounds, and silence follows after.

  
Victor steps over to the mats and throws an arm above his head as he stretches. He's not sure why he's suddenly lost the ability to speak to Yuuri—it isn't like he's had a problem spewing nonsense before. Perhaps Chris's words are subconsciously affecting him now.

  
In the corner of his eye, Victor spots items propped up against a pillar. Yuuri's things, he guesses. There's two full water bottles amongst them. _Huh_.

 

✂

 

"Okay," Yuuri says. He stands tall in front of Victor on the cleared section of the room, hands on hips, all the earlier timidness gone. It's replaced with an air of command Victor is all too used to as Yuuri addresses him, and Victor internally notes that he's a very, _very_ weak man. "Are you ready?"

  
Victor decides that now's a good time to come clean, because he's absolutely not ready. "What exactly are we doing again? Sorry, I was feeling out of it this morning." Which technically isn't wrong, but it's technically only half true. Yuuri doesn't need to know that.

  
Sighing, Yuuri crosses his arms and walks slow circles around Victor as he explains. "Before you can become a full-fledged hero, we need to test your physical capabilities the way we test heroes-in-training. Of course, the whole process is altered for you because you clearly already have a grasp on the way your powers work."

  
Once Yuuri makes two full circles, he breaks the motion and saunters over to his bag on the floor, the one next to those two water bottles, and he produces two pairs of gloves. Then he continues, "There'll be three tests for you, essentially. This is the first: hand-to-hand combat proficiency. 'Cause you never know when you'll need to be cautious on your approach to completing a mission. Here, catch."

  
Yuuri tosses one set of gloves to him, and Victor's fast reflexes allow him to react before his brain catches up. He inspects the pieces of fabric, runs his fingers over the smooth, bulky material.

  
"What are these?" he asks, flipping them around in his hands. He looks up and sees Yuuri slipping them on, so he figures he has to do the same. They're soft on the inside, a little tight, but there's no way Yuuri would have his hand measurements, so he says nothing about it.

  
"Power Muzzle Suppressant gloves."

  
Victor raises his eyebrows when he realizes the acronym that makes.

  
"A Research and Development invention?"

  
"Mhm. These examinations need handicaps, since we wouldn't want anyone to get seriously hurt. It'll suppress the ice and fire as long as we wear them."

  
Victor places a hand gingerly against his chest. "You don't trust me to cautiously use my ice?"

  
"No," Yuuri says, curt and truthful.

  
Victor wears a pout, and Yuuri's eyes roll to the ceiling.

  
"You're the last person I'd want to hurt, Cinderella."

  
Yuuri closes his eyes, let's out a long-suffering sigh, and in his head, Victor thinks, _Oh_. Is this what an annoyed Yuuri looks like? Was Chris really telling him the truth then?

  
"Let's just get this over with," Yuuri huffs, taking his stance with his feet shoulder width apart. "No heavy blows. The first to restrain the other wins. Ready?"

  
Truth be told, Victor still isn't quite sure he is, but there's nothing to that can help the way his distracted eyes sweep over the hard, determined lines of Yuuri's face. Victor's seen the look about a thousand times, but without the mask, it's like opening a present for the very first time.

  
He is very, truly, _extremely_ , weak.

  
"Ready when you are," Victor says, but the words don't come out as easily and airily as he'd like. He mimics Yuuri's fighting stance.

  
Neither dares to make the first decisive move just yet; when Yuuri shuffles forward with a twitch of his bare feet, Victor shuffles back; when Victor feints a jab with the slightest pivot of his hips, Yuuri reflexively throws up his arms to block. This goes on for three full minutes, and Yuuri appears to be getting restless because of it.

  
"Are you scared?" he says, in a teasing tone that Victor does not expect.

  
"Why would I have reason to be?" Victor teases right back. "I'll have you on yours knees by the end of this."

  
Yuuri doesn't comment on that obvious innuendo. He responds with action instead, throwing a punch that Victor has to block, then immediately following with the sweep of a foot that causes Victor to momentarily lose his footing.

  
When Victor regains his balance, they circle each other again. Victor is a bit put off, and Yuuri looks more than a little pleased. He can't bring himself to feel embarrassed, however. Confidence is such a good look on the hero.

  
"When exactly do you plan on doing that?"

  
"Doing what?" Victor asks, as he calculates a next possible move.

  
"Getting me on my knees," Yuuri says cooly, while looking Victor dead in the eye. He’s definitely doing this on purpose. It makes Victor feel a touch breathless, but he needs to breathe if he wants to win. "You'd have to pin me down first, you know? You aren't doing a very good job."

  
"Wow, Yuuri," Victor licks his lips suggestively. "The least you can do is ask me out to dinner first."

  
There's a stutter to Yuuri's step— _there_. Victor swings with a combination punch, ends with a soft hook that lightly taps Yuuri's cheek.

  
He smirks. "You shouldn't let your guard down."

  
Yuuri smiles, and Victor assumes he'll concede, but no. He's full of surprises today.

  
"Like you're doing right now?"

  
Victor hardly has time to say _what?_ before his outstretched arm is suddenly knocked away, and there's sudden hands on his waist and _heat_ and rush and the air is pulled with force from his lungs.

  
He stares up at the ceiling.

  
"I win."

  
"You—" Victor takes a moment to clear the pathetic wheeze his voice is reduced to. "You didn't say we could use our powers."

  
"I didn't say we couldn't," Yuuri counters.

  
His black tuft of hair and big, brown eyes pop into Victor's view. He has the world's most smug look on his face.

  
"I'm kind of surprised." Yuuri offers a hand, which Victor takes. (He wishes they weren't wearing these godawful gloves; he can still feel the burn of them.) "I expected this to go completely differently. You're actually all bark and no bite in the grand scheme of things."

  
The haze from this morning starts up again, comes out of left field, straight into his brain, stronger than before. Victor presses a finger against his temple to try and alleviate.

  
"Hey...are you okay?"

  
He looks up and waves Yuuri's concerns away with his hand. "That was just the practice round." Victor takes his stance again. "Best two out of three."

 

✂

 

 _Sssh_ , goes the door as it slides open, and in comes Chris, exhausted, and catching the lasts of his breath as he reenters the training room. He expects it to be empty, because he'd been gone for a while now. But what he finds instead is Victor lying the full length of his body on the ground.

  
Victor is aching everywhere already; he's never been so well worked in his life. His gloves are off, and he's resting against a sheet of ice he conjured to help sooth the barely-there burns lingering against his skin. He wasn't ready for this. At all.

  
"How did sparring with Yuuri go?"

  
"He kicked my ass," Victor replies simply.

  
"What else did you expect from SUCC's top hero?" Chris bends down and taps a finger against Victor’s cheek. "I must say, though. I didn't think he'd be so hard on you. But it makes sense that he would be. He expects a lot from you."

  
"He said—Chris, he said to take ten. _Ten!_ He means for me to continue despite the fact that I'm dying!"

  
Chris does nothing to comfort the melodramatic distress Victor is feeling. He only laughs at his misfortune. "The man has got crazy stamina. It's useful for getting the job done. Among other things."

  
Victor exhales a puff of air, watches the cold temperature surrounding his body turn the breath into a wispy, visible, white cloud before dissipating. He can’t bring himself to consider the implications of that when he’s too busy dreading the rest of training. "This is just the first test. I honestly don't think I'll survive, Chris."

  
"Did he tell you that?" Chris snickers and shakes his head. "That's just something we tell all of the trainees so they'll take sparring serious, Victor. But don't tell Yuuri I told you that."

  
Victor could cry with how his limbs are screaming. And the phantom feeling of the burns are taking ages to fade. Maybe that's just all they are—phantoms—because Victor is still hung up on five minutes ago, when Yuuri gripped him oh, so firmly by the arms and, oh, he thinks he gets the appeal of being manhandled.

  
"Yuuri could kick my ass a thousand times, and I'd probably thank him for it," Victor muses out loud.

  
"You're like a lovesick puppy," Chris observes. Pityingly. He's pitying him. How dare he. "It's a bit sad."

  
Victor opens his mouth to counter—because he's _not_ some sad, abandoned stray puppy, what even _is_ that comparison—but he stops himself with a gasp. "I'm remembering something."

  
Chris raises an eyebrow. "What?"

  
"I'm _remembering something_ ," Victor repeats, softly, and with feeling, as though that'll clear up the sudden statement.

  
"Victor," Chris places a gentle hand on Victor's shoulder. "You aren't making any sense. What are you remembering?"

  
He sits up, soreness forgotten, and grabs a perplexed Chris by the shoulders. "All day! I've been trying to remember something all day! My head—it's been very weird, and hazy, but now it's getting clearer—" He pauses, closes his eyes, digs through the fog with clumsy hands as he tries to uncover whatever that _something_ is. It's murky, unclear, like sticking his head in a vat or tar. But the fog is slowly clearing, and…

  
"Numbers. A phone number? Coordinates? What do these mean..."

  
"What's going on?" Victor hears Yuuri call from the main entrance to the room, and he hears the patter of feet at the other walks over.

  
"Victor is remembering something in that static mess of a memory of his. Get a pen, get a pen!"

  
"Oh! Uh..."

  
"Are you writing this down?" Victor asks. He doesn't dare open his eyes again, lest he forgets and causes these numbers to drift away. When he hears a confirmation, he begins, "Okay...eight-zero-zero-eight-five...That's all I can see, I think." He waits a few seconds to make absolute certain of this, then he opens his eyes again, blinks a few times to adjust to the flood of light, and stares at the two sitting next to him—

  
They look extremely unamused.

  
"What?"

  
"Victor, is this a joke? It isn't funny," Yuuri deadpans, crumpling the sheet of paper in his hands.

  
"No, I'm serious! I don't know what those numbers mean, but it's probably important. I'm assuming the people who had my memories wiped have something to do with it."

  
"Well, they do mean something," Chris chimes in. He's frowning, which makes Victor frown in turn. "That spells boobs on a calculator."

  
"What— _no_ , that can't be right," Victor grabs the balled up paper Yuuri tossed to the floor, unravels it, stares at the numbers written on the sheet and a little angry face drawn next to them. "Listen, I have a feeling this is something we should look into."

  
He hopes the urgent conviction is enough to get his point across, but Yuuri and Chris do not seem ready and willing to budge.

  
Yuuri stands and stretches his arms above his head. "We can discuss this after training."

  
Victor almost, _almost_ , whines desperately. "This isn't even a test, Yuuri, _please_ —"

  
"Who told you that?! Chris!" Yuuri frowns, turns an accusatory eye on Chris.

  
Chris shrugs sheepishly.

  
"Please, trust me this one time. I swear on Yakov's bald spot that I'm being one-hundred-percent serious right now," Victor says, gaze unwavering, as he looks Yuuri in the eye.

  
Yuuri stares back, and Victor can physically see the words turning like a fan in his head, and the obstinate resolve slowly falling to crumbles around his feet. "Okay...okay, fine. We can search SIB later. But we're going to finish the training now, okay?"

  
"Of course." Victor jumps to his feet, and all too quickly remembers the ache he'd felt only a few minutes ago.

  
"I won't go easy on you this time, either," Yuuri says in warning.

  
"What kind of hero would you be if you did?"

  
"A merciful one." Chris mumbles, stepping out of the way. "Good luck, Nikiforov. You'll need it."

 

✦

**Author's Note:**

> i was seriously worried i wouldn't be able to post the entire summer because i've moved back home for the break and i didn't have a computer, but i have one now! and lots and lots of free time, bless.
> 
> i'd like to thank everyone's who's been reading this and enjoying it and leaving comments/kudos/giving recs/etc because honestly it blows my mind?? i didn't think anyone would like this au, it was just a stress relief thing but now my doc of ideas is five pages long, haha.
> 
> also, i've decided to revive my tumblr because i'd gotten a couple of questions about my fic despite the fact that i haven't used that account in several months (i'd ask how ppl are finding me but i go by hinatella everywhere, so.) if you have inquiries, the desire to yell, or just wanna talk, you can find me on tumblr @ [hinatella](http://hinatella.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@hinatella](https://twitter.com/hinatella).
> 
> thanks to qq (@semi8ta) for beta reading, and thank you for reading!


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